


Champagne, Cocaine, Gasoline

by kittyohcat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Tags and Warnings will be updated as needed, haven't planned that far yet, romance might happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:31:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyohcat/pseuds/kittyohcat
Summary: When Stile's enters the frat house, he thinks he isn't likely to remember what happens that night as Lydia pulls him along behind her, and he drags Scott. From the moment the three of them down their first round of shots and Lydia drags him to dance floor, the night doesn't seem to slow down. The momentum of liquor dragging them along for the ride. Must be this tall to ride, keep all hands and feet inside the carriage, don't forget to pick up your photo at the end. But Stiles feels like it was all a mistake when he finds Scott's body the next day.





	Champagne, Cocaine, Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this listening to Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time by Panic! At The Disco. Fair warning, this story is likely to get gory and violent. I'm doing more outlining before I post the next chapter and I will update the tags and warnings accordingly. Next chapter will be longer.

When Stile's enters the frat house, he thinks he isn't likely to remember what happens that night as Lydia pulls him along behind her, and he drags Scott. From the moment the three of them down their first round of shots and Lydia drags him to dance floor, the night doesn't seem to slow down. The momentum of liquor dragging them along for the ride. Must be this tall to ride, keep all hands and feet inside the carriage, don't forget to pick up your photo at the end.

 

When he wakes the next day—was it the next day? Could have been the next week for all he knew—his head pounds like a bass drum against his skull. With a groan he slowly becomes aware of rough carpet against his skin. Most of his skin. He's only in his underwear.

 

After a moment and with another groan, he sits up, acutely aware of how uncomfortably dry his mouth is. In front of him is the bar. The shelves behind it, which had been full last night, were sparse, holding only a few empty bottles.

 

_Lydia is dancing with him, the two of them spinning around each other like they're rehearsing for a clumsy rendition of Dirty Dancing. They've had too much to drink and Lydia lost her heels a while ago. The dance floor is packed and they keep bouncing off other party goers. No one seems to really mind. They laugh loudly when they're pushed back together by the throng of people, nearly tumbling over the other when their chests bump together._

 

Stiles attempts to stand, nearly ending up back on the floor. He steadies himself on a nearby overturned armchair and slowly looks around. Lydia is sprawled out on a love seat, the legs of her stockings sporting long runs and her shirt is mostly unbuttoned. Probably because most of those buttons are missing. Her head is pillowed on another girl's thigh, he thinks her name is Allison. There's a puddle of drool staining her jeans from Lydia. Stiles isn't going to let her live it down.

 

_The three of them stumble into the 24/7 grocery store behind the frat house, a girl he doesn't know tagging along. She's cute with dimples and long, silky hair like dark chocolate. They want cigarettes and take whatever the cashier puts on the counter, barely stifling drunk giggles. They light up the moment the sliding doors hiss open and after a drag, Stiles clambers into a beat up shopping cart, demanding Scott push him around. Lydia gracelessly squishes in next to him, their arms and legs overflowing the sides. Scott and the girl—Alexandria? Madison? Allison? Whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is—push them, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs as they run across the empty parking lot, nearly tipping the wobbly cart over when they hit a grate. It does tip when they hit the grassy slope behind the parking lot, spilling a laughing pile of Stiles and Lydia onto the damp grass._

 

He stumbles through the room and toward the kitchen, putting on whatever clothes he finds lying around. He thinks the jeans are his, but the shirt isn't. It's way too big. But it smells like nice cologne and isn't nearly as stiff and stale as his jeans.

 

_Using each other for support, the four of them climb the slope and back to the party. When they pick their way through the then line of trees that separates the lot the store is on and the frat house, Stiles nearly falls on his ass in a muddy patch. He sees large, clawed prints in the gooey earth and points at them, yelling “look!”_

 

“ _Racoon!” Scott says too seriously, then cracks up laughing with a snort._

 

“ _Big racoon!” Whatshername slurs out, giggling next to Scott._

 

“ _Big racoon,” Stiles agree._

 

_They quickly forget about it and stumble back to the house, Lydia shoving him into the pool as they pass it._

 

In the kitchen he picks up a cup and fills it with tap water, then chugs it down like a dying man in the desert. When he's downed it all, he pulls the cup away with a loud “ _ahh!”_ and uses the sleeve of the shirt that isn't his to wipe away the water dribbling down his chin.

 

_Scott nearly hurts himself laughing, rolling on the concrete. Whatsherface is doubled over, holding her stomach as she laughs nearly as hard and Scott. Its funnier than it should be. “Sorry!” Lydia shrugs unapologetically. Stiles pulls himself from the cold water and tries to push Lydia in as they stumble to the back door. She teeters on the edge but doesn't loose her balance. She playfully sticks her tongue out at him. He strips off his clinging clothes as they move through the kitchen and picks up a half empty bottle of rum off the counter. He's finally able to kick off his soaked jeans in the doorway between the kitchen and lounge._

 

After he sets the cup down, he closes his eyes and cracks his neck, sighing appreciatively when it pops in the most satisfying way. It didn't help his pounding headache or his sore muscles, but it straightened out some of the kinks from sleeping on the floor. He opens his eyes, planning to hunt down some aspirin,but his body stiffens and his blood goes cold when he sees the blood.

 

Then he sees the back door, hanging off one hinge and its window broken.

 

Then he sees the body.

 

Then he sees that the body is Scott.

 


End file.
